


Amok Effing Time

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John, Other, Ridiculous pregnancy, SCIENCE!, ipreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: When a lab accident interferes with John's suppressants, he gets all he could have hoped for and more in an encounter with Professor Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: Heat, implied canonical Deep Space 9 character death, ridiculous levels of pregnancy, and the Borg.
> 
> While I'm using the title of ST:OS Amok Time (the grandmammy of all the have to do it or die stories), not much to do with the actual episode Amok Time.

Commander Professor Phillip Anderson.

No one should forget either title.

He was a Commander. He was commanding.

He had a professorship at Starfleet Academy.

The freak across the hall from him was also a professor.

A visiting professor. He hadn't been assigned a full professorship.

He was not tenured.

He would never be tenured.

Philip had yet to achieve tenure, but he was on track. Well on track.

Lieutenant Commander Holmes had written over two hundred papers.

Philip had been less prolific.

Considerably less prolific, but that was because he had a life thank you very much. He was a commander. Not merely a lieutenant commander.

Holmes took every opportunity to criticize Philip's lab techniques. Just because there had been an incident.

Philip's techniques were flawless. His research meaningful and Holmes could just fuck off.


	2. Sherlock POV

Mr. Watson had begun to behave differently with Sherlock since the night of the attempted kidnapping. Spending more time in Sherlock's office. Interacting with him more with regards to classroom activities.  

Mr. Watson continued to volubly and frequently express his admiration for Sherlock, which did tend to create a feedback loop.

Mr. Watson asked one evening over takeout from some place called Sisko Creole Kitchen, "How do you know that my parents run a theater troop?"

Sherlock toyed with a leaf of his salad. His transport didn't require nearly the same amount of fuel as Mr. Watson did. Additionally, his sense of taste was extremely sensitive. Easier to consume bland food than to assault it. "Several indicators. Your accent is Mid-Brittanic-Galactic. Say 'The clerk was hard at work in the laboratory. Her schedule left little time for leisure.'"

Mr. Watson dutifully repeated the sentences, which demonstrated an excellent level of recall. Most couldn't have done it without Sherlock repeating himself.

"You've frequently mentioned visiting over a dozen planets that is on a very specific route, which would indicate either merchant, garbage collection, or theater."

"Garbage!" said Mr. Watson waving a fork at him. "Oi!"

Sherlock held up a finger to indicate that he was not done. "Your parents are an alpha omega pair."

"It happens." Mr. Watson licked some of the sauce off his lower lip. Sherlock shifted in his chair and ignored the sensations that that the sight of that pink tongue sliding over a sauce slick lip inculcated in him.

"You place a premium on non-replicated goods. This takeout. Why go anywhere to get any food when there is a replicator that can make the same thing down the hall."

"It's not the same," Mr. Watson said in the vehement and by now expected response. "Replicated food just doesn't taste as good."

"Precisely an example of the opinion of which I was speaking. You are on the medical track with no reason to have a familiarity with theater, and yet can quote Klingon Opera, Andorian Drum Chants, various classic Human plays. It could not be more telling."

"Amazing. Most people wouldn't have noticed." The smile, the one Sherlock had been attempting to induce spread across Mr. Waton's face.

"Most people also wouldn't have noticed the matching Greek mask on your gender rings." Sherlock dared to reach out and tap the relevant symbols. One ring given to you by a parent no doubt hoping that you would follow in their profession. The other," he eyed it narrowly, "belonging to a sibling, who gave you their ring when they decided to change their orientation."

"Amazing. You're right Mum gave them to my twin, Harry, and me at our gender reveal party when we were twelve, but Harry didn't give me her ring because she changed her mind about her gender. She did, eventually, but that was later. She was angry at me for deciding I wanted to go into Starfleet, and since she had tragedy, she threw it in my face." _Mr. Watson's eyes flickered up and to the left. A crease in forehead. Slight downward tilt to his eyes. A painful memory._

Sherlock decided to steer the conversation into another corridor. "Why did you join? Why medicine? You're obviously driven. Intelligent. Hard working."

"Ta." Mr. Watson shrugged. "When I was kid, I was sick a lot. No more than Normals mind you. It's from Mum's side of the family. Just don't have the genes for that aggressive immune system that some Augments have." He shrugged. "More than that, I want to be out there. Helping people. Saving people when a plague hits some distant colony. Guess I get that one from my dad. He doesn't say much, but he gets passionate about what life's like out beyond the settled Federation planets." He leaned back and smiled at Sherlock. "But enough about me. What's your family like? You're not from Earth, but that's about all I can tell."

Sherlock recited what was on his Starfleet record. "My family is from Corindium IV." That particular mining facility had experienced a massive E-impulse explosion, which destroyed all their records. This meant that his Starfleet records began in his mid-twenties.

"Mining, asteroids, huh. I would have pegged you for a high gravity world." Mr. Watson leaned back and his gaze drifted down. "You're uh… I've observed that you are very strong."

"I did spend some time on Tragerus in my teen years." That was also in his records. Although, Tragerus was not a member of the Federation and did not share their information with outside governments.

Sherlock attempted to once again to change the conversation. "I am curious about one thing. With holosuites so common, why would anyone see a theater troop?"

"Oh, Professor, those are fighting words." Mr. Watson's smile was lazy. "It's the same as the replicator food. Its fine when you have to, but it's not as good. It's why my Cousin Kenneth makes hand carved chairs for people when replicators are common on Federation worlds. Some people want to experience real things. Have objects that were made by another sentient being. Listen to artists who've honed their craft and give a performance that will never be the same." He licked his lips. "Spend time with an LSA when they could just go to a holosuite." His voice went three degrees lower. "So, do you ever visit LSA's or do you prefer the holosuites?"

Sherlock scowled. "Neither."

"So, do you have a partner? Augment. Normal human. Alien. Whatever's fine, of course?"

"No." Given their relative positions in authority, it wasn't possible that Mr. Watson was asking out of personal curiosity. Still it was important to be clear. "I'm married to my career."

"Yeah, Starfleet still doesn't encourage Augment personnel to marry. That's a one way ticket to a desk job, and God forbid we have children. Not that I blame them." He paused. _Clearly surveying unpleasant memories. His Mother? The sibling whose gender ring he wore? No. He'd mentioned a less aggressive immune system on his maternal side. More likely an unfortunately successful high order magnitude pregnancy._

_Sherlock did not visit the Portrait gallery in his memory palace to hear Mummy's rants on the subject._

Mr. Watson had resumed speaking. "I've sure you've examined the chemical cocktail of the birth control and suppressors they have us on."

Sherlock shrugged. He had. It was irrelevant in his case, as they could have no effect on him. It did not matter. His body was merely transport for his mind. His control over the animal absolute. Mycroft, of course, the lazy cat doubted him, but he was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Mr. Watson shifted in his chair and winced. He said, "Professor Holmes. I don't suppose, you could help with this knot in my back."

Sherlock was genuinely confused. "A holosuite would be more efficient."

"I think we already talked about the personal touch and you wouldn't want me to repeat myself. Anyway, I'm out of hours." He shrugged and visibly winced in pain. His gaze flickered to the left, which indicated that he was over emphasizing the nature of the issue.

_Sherlock quickly visited Mr. Watson's gallery in his memory palace._

_A screen showed him a graphed chart of the number of Mr. Watson's visits to the space port, which had decreased dramatically since the incident. That only made sense. He flicked through probabilities of disassociation given trauma and discarded them as irrelevant. More likely Mr. Watson following precautions._

_Another screen showed the chart on the number of academy assignations that Mr. Watson had conducted since the incident. This chart showed a dramatic drop, which also correlated to the increased number of hours that he'd spent in the holosuites. Especially, now that Sherlock was sure to regularly reward his T.A with additional hours for excellent work in the expectation of producing precisely that result._

_It was admirable that Mr. Watson always completely wiped the recorded scenario after each holosuite. Sherlock very much wanted to compliment him on this precaution, which would of course lead to a series of questions that allow him to deduce the nature of Mr. Watson's preferred scenarios, but Sherlock didn't. It might lead to Mr. Watson getting the wrong impression as to why Sherlock had been looking._

_A very wrong impression._

_He examined statistics on the need for Augment Inferiors to experience regular skin to skin contact, which clearly the holosuites couldn't more than approximate. His own people did not require it, of course, but Mr. Watson did have some Beta Human ancestors._

_It was clear. If he did not provide some form of skin to skin contact, Mr. Watson would seek it out in other ways._

_Additionally, rubbing his back and neck would result in Mr. Watson being marked by Sherlock's scent markers._

"Very well."

Mr. Watson was already halfway to the door. "Oh, sorry. You were," he waved his hands, "quiet for a while." He sat back down.

Sherlock examined him and the high backed chair. "I'll have better access to your back if you rest your front on the back of the chair.

The pink tip of Mr. Watson's tongue slicked his upper lip. "You mean," he stood up, "straddle it like this?" He spread his legs wide and wrapped them around the chair back. Demonstrating his flexibility.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes." He stood behind Mr. Watson. Sherlock laid his hands on either side of his neck. Simply resting his hands there. Feeling the warmth of his body. The oils of his skin absorbed into Sherlock's index fingers. It was necessary to lean forward to apply downward pressure with his forearms, which brought his face very close to Mr. Watson's pale neck rising out of his grey cadet's uniform collar. His breathe disturbing the blond strands of hair at the base of Mr. Watson's skull.

Mr. Watson sighed and hugged the chair closer.

Sherlock applied a series of compressions down Mr. Watson's back. In theory, he understood that muscular distress came from adhesions between tissues. That first he must warm the area, before beginning to apply more focused pressure. He reached Mr. Watson's sacrum at the base of his spine. It was utterly necessary for a thorough treatment to spread both hands around Mr. Watson's gluteus maximus muscles and rotate Mr. Watson's hips from that position.

Mr. Watson groaned.

"Is this too much?" Sherlock asked not quite ready to remove his hands.

"No," mumbled Mr. Watson against the chair. He flexed his hips, rubbing his pelvic region against the chair. "S'good. Keep going."

He worked his way back up Mr. Watson's back. Continuing to apply compression by fanning both hands across Mr. Watson's back, while beginning to apply additional pressure with his thumbs along the spine. Until he reached the top of Mr. Watson's shoulders. Rotating one and then the other. His thumbs working their way above Mr. Watson's collar. Against the base of Mr. Watson's skull. Into his hair.

Mr. Watson's sighed as his fingers lightly moved Mr. Watson's scalp. Recorded the texture of his hair for later examination. "Ngh, your hands are amazing."

Sherlock smiled in pleasure at Mr. Watson's response. He was very responsive. Sherlock pressed his fingers into the levator scapulae muscle along the size of his neck and down into the scapula.

Mr. Watson sighed. "Nice. Very nice." His neck shifted slightly to the right. Improving access to the scent glands there.

Sherlock realized he was baring his canines, which was embarrassing. He was not an animal. He firmed his lips and rotated Mr. Watson's right arm to loosen the muscles there. Pressing his fingers up under the shoulder blades. Repeated this on the left side. Addressed several adhesions in John's upper back. He worked his way back down. Seeking out any potential adhesions.

Cupped Mr. Watson's gluteus maximus muscles again to rotate Mr. Watson's hips, pulling another groan from Mr. Watson. His neck was completely open. Sherlock could simply reach down and bite into the delicious scent. Take a seat behind Mr. Watson. Press his entire body against him. Surround him. Test. Mr. Watson's flexibility further by…

Sherlock stepped back quickly. "Better?"

"Much." Mr. Watson's consonants were slightly slurred. He blinked blearily. "You look a little tense yourself. Let me return the favor."

"Unnecessary." There was no tension in Sherlock's back. It wasn't actually possible for him to pull a muscle or develop adhesions.

"Come on Professor Holmes. You helped me. Don't put me in your debt. Let me return the favor."

Sherlock sighed. Clearly, Mr. Watson was still seeking contact. It would behove him to provide it. Sherlock sat down with ill grace. "Fine. But no more than five minutes are necessary."

"Sure." Mr. Watson lightly scraped his fingers through Sherlock's scalp in a circular motion, which resulted in an auto sensory meridian response with goose bumps spreading over his upper body. Interesting. He should have tried something like this before if only to examine the physiological responses. Mr. Watson pressed firm fingers along either side of Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock rumbled a low purr. Really, it was the most interesting response. He carefully recorded it.

It seemed unlikely that Mr. Watson's lips pressed to his C5 vertebrae was standard, but then his own exposure to massage was limited and his own actions had been based on a thorough understanding of Beta and Augment physiology.

He carefully recorded each action that Mr. Watson took. The slow slide of his thumbs down his spine. The curve of his fingers across his back. The joint cranial and sacral compression.

The sound of the rumble increased. Mr. Watson leaned close to his ear. "You're purring."

Sherlock forced his purr into a hum.

"No, I like it. It's nice. Most alphas can't. But," Sherlock could hear the smile in Mr. Watson's voice. "You're not like most alphas."

This was somewhat dangerous for Mr. Watson to notice. While it was on hand obvious, it could lead to a dangerous path. Sherlock said nothing and the massage continued.

He was somewhat surprised to discover that an hour had passed when Mr. Watson finally stepped away. He looked at Mr. Watson. "I said five minutes."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself. You don't do that enough."

He was out of the room before Sherlock could think of an answer.

After that, this activity was added as a nightly ritual, which was fine as long as the graphs for Mr. Watson seeking out other contact remained a steady zero. Sherlock attempted to ensure it by studying techniques for Swedish, Thai, Vulcan, Deep Tissue, Acupressure, Hot Stone, Bamboo Cane, and Sonic massage.  

In any case, as the semester continued and the complexity of the assignments increased, it was only natural that Sherlock have Mr. Watson spend more time assisting on lab work.  Perhaps this was why the physical space between them decreased as they worked. Mr. Watson frequently touched items in Sherlock's office. His chest brushed Sherlock's back when looking at course work together or reaching around Sherlock to use his communicator, and, of course, the nightly massages.

His scent lingered in Sherlock's office. The lab. Sherlock's skin. Over the month, it simultaneously enriched and sweetened. As if thick cream and honey had been added to the mix.

It wasn't the least bit distracting, because Sherlock was above that sort of thing, but he could see where lesser individuals might be affected.

Late in the semester, Mr. Watson arrived to dinner early. He was restless and distracted. He barely touched his Andorian stew, but it was replicated. He didn't exclaim at all when Sherlock made a particularly brilliant observation about the two hundred and three kinds of species capable of existing in vacuum.

Mr. Watson stood up. He sat down. He paced. His scent had a particular edge to it that evening. Out of nowhere he asked, "Do you ever have sex? With you know, people?"

Sherlock frowned. "You know I loathe repeating myself. I'm married to my work Mr. Watson. I'm not an animal."

"Married doesn't mean you can't have affairs. Anyway, we're all some kind of animal. Augments more than most."

This conversation made Sherlock feel on edge. He was trying to decide what to do, when the toxicology alarm went off and the force shield on the office went up.

Sherlock frowned. "Anderson! No doubt another accident in his labs. His laboratory techniques are atrocious."

John hissed. "I'm feeling…" He didn't complete the sentence. He didn't have too. His pleasant scent had shifted. Deepened. Warmed. Become particularly enticing.

"It's triggered an early heat," said Sherlock wincing that such an obvious and banal statement had left his lips.

"But I'm on suppressors," John half way wailed. He plucked at the cloth over his genitals. "Fuck, I need to fuck." He licked his lips and looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock retreated behind his desk. He and John were sealed in the room together. Trapping his pheromones, which would trigger a rut in an ordinary alpha. Sherlock was not ordinary. He was not an animal. He was not going to give in to transport. It was only there to transport him. Still, precautions were in order. He tapped his communicator. "Emergency transport for two to my quarters."

The transporter hummed around them. Sherlock smiled in relief when they arrived in his rooms.

"Excellent," said Mr. Watson eyeing the couch. "No, a bed would be better." He unfastened the top of his uniform and tugged it off.

This could become awkward. Unpleasant. Sherlock wanted, he wanted…Sherlock did the only thing he could think to do. He retreated to his bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the air filtration unit. Clean filtered air flooded the tiny room. Of course, he was trapped in his bathroom, which was less than ideal. Sherlock tapped his communicator. "Mr. Watson you're not yourself."

"No, this is exactly who I am. Come on, Professor. Come out. You have something I need. I really need it."

Sherlock hesitated with his hand over the door lock. "You're only speaking like this because you're in heat."

"No, Professor." Vehement. Definite. With a slight whine at the end. "I've been working up to asking you to fuck to me at the end of the semester. I was going to go off my suppressors for you. Ask you to fuck me through my heat." A slight scraping sound. "Can't wait!" More scraping. "I need you now."

Sherlock was fairly certain that this was all untrue. Mr. Watson was a dedicated student. Focused on his career goals. He'd have been very unlikely to have risked all that by going off his suppressors for… to… he cursed Anderson's shoddy laboratory techniques. "You should order an additional suppressor from the replicator and wait until it takes effect."

"Don't want to. Want you to fuck me. Please sir, I've been very good." His voice dropped. "I'm so good."

Sherlock was fairly certain that if he opened the door, he'd be able to resist Mr. Watson long enough to synthesize the suppressor himself. After all, his control was excellent. He was fairly certain.

He didn't open the door.

"It could be research. Bio…logical research. You like research."

Sherlock did like research.

"Stick your cock in me like a probe thing. That's science."

Sherlock rested his head against the door. He thought about probing warm wet tight flesh. Purely theoretically as a construct as he'd never done any such thing, but he thought about it. Thought about doing exactly that with Mr. Watson.

He did not open the door.

"Come on. I bet your genes are really good. Come out and breed me. Fuck me full of your babies."

_Outrageous provocation designed for a lesser intelligence._ "Mr. Watson, you're on Starfleet mandated birth control for academy students. Even if we coupled frantically for the full three days as I worked to repeatedly fill your supple body with my ejaculate the entire time," Sherlock paused wondering just where he was going with that particular line of thought. "You will not get pregnant."

"So, come out and fuck me. If you're worried because I fuck around, I've replicated a fuck ton of condoms. And we get tested all the time. I don't have anything. I'm wet and empty. Horny. I need you." Mr. Watson's voice was full of pouting temptation, which Sherlock was above.

Another scrape.

"I'm a professor."

"Not my first professor," was Mr. Watson's provocative response. "Don't you want to come out and fuck the thought of him out of my head?"

Sherlock snarled. "Was it Sholto?" Then castigated himself. That wasn't a deduction. Sholto had been quietly transferred after it became known that he was having affairs with multiple students.

"Yeah, it was. You're so smart. Yeah, we fucked a bunch of times. Don't you want to wipe his scent off of me? Claim me. Breed me. I bet you could breed me where he failed. Don't you want to try?"

He must not open the door. Although, if he did, he most certainly had the control required to order an additional suppressor for Mr. Watson.

He put his hand on the door panel. He hesitated. What if he wasn't strong enough? _Mycroft's voice echoed all the way from the Portrait Hall. His Mother's voice added to it. Telling him that he was overly emotional? Prone to animal instincts. Lacked control. Why else would they have constrained him where they had?_

_Which he had been clever enough to escape and had been clever enough, strong willed enough to resist all temptations since he'd left. He was a thinking machine. His body was merely transport._

"Come on, Professor. I need someone to service me. If you won't come out. I'll have to find someone else who'll help me. I'll have to be very naughty. Go find someone else to fuck my hot wet cunt."

Sherlock growled, but did not open the door. "You're better than that, Mr. Watson."

There was no response. The silence stretched.

Sherlock questioned whether he'd made the correct decision. He reached for the door lock, when it slid open on its own. Mr. Watson was crouched naked by the door with a Trilliun sequencer in his hand. Sherlock stared. "I had no idea you knew how to pick a lock." This was something new.

_He reviewed observations in his mind palace. Ah, of course, he should have seen it. Mr. Watson had mentioned a familiarity with lodgings with substandard locking mechanisms on their fifteenth dinner and at his pre-Academy school there had been..._

Was jolted out of his mind palace by an earthquake, which was to say Mr. Watson had wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "Got you." He rubbed his full body against Sherlock.

Sherlock could easily have pushed Mr. Watson away. Moved his hands to do that. Found them clutching Watson's skin. A contact high buzzed over him, which was unlike all the previous contact. Better.

_Some distant part of his brain analyzed the effect. Really this was an excellent research opportunity. Excellent. Very good._

He sucked on the scent gland on the left side of Watson's neck. Brown sugar. Caramel. That wasn't enough. He bit down on the flesh on some primal need to claim his T.A. for always. Coppery blood mixed with hormones. A potent cocktail. It shouldn't affect him.

He dimly thought though that he was designed exactly to be affected by it.

"Oh, fuck! Yes!" Watson's fingers scrabbled over Sherlock's body.

Watson took care of Sherlock's clothing while Sherlock licked at the wound he'd made. He didn't stop even as Watson ran his fingers along Sherlock's now freed member.

"Fuck, I under… I under… bigger than I thought. Hoped. Fuck that's a gorgeous thick, long, cock.

It was critical that Sherlock clean the wound. He kept licking.

"Can't wait. Couch is fine." Watson shoved Sherlock backwards. Sherlock fell briefly. Bounced once before Watson climbed onto his lap. Wriggled a little. Smiled wickedly. Beautifully. Squeezing Sherlock's heart. "Going to be so good." There was a crinkle of foil. The scent of silicone. Something was rolled over his aching member. One of the hundreds of condoms spilling out of the replicator. Mr. Watson shifted forward. Spreading those flexible hips. His golden hair a sort of halo lit by the overhead light. His blue eyes dark in the shadow. His body teasing Sherlock well wrapped member with wet warmth.

He pushed down, slowly impaling himself. Mr. Watson's eyes widened. "Fuuuuuuck, you're big."

Sherlock gasped. His mind stuttering.

Flesh parted around Sherlock. Smooth and warm. Apart. The liquid that was dripping down Mr. Watson's thighs separated from Sherlock by an artificial barrier.

Sherlock stared up as Mr. Watson moved with one foot on the ground and one knee against Sherlock's bared hip. Watson pushed himself up slowly, only to move back down by simply relaxing his muscles. The knot at the base of Sherlock's cock firmly clasped in hot flesh before being dragged out again into the cool air and then to once again to be tightly held.

Someone was growling. Sherlock realized to his horror it was him. He needed to do something. He decided that something was take Watson's hands in his own and thrust up with his hips. Controlling Watson's balance. Pushing up harder and harder.

Watson yelled, "Fuck! Yeah! That!"

Watson's member spurted a small stream of thin ejaculate on Sherlock's chest, which was smeared between their bodies as Watson bent for a kiss.

Sherlock growled louder. Instinct had him move his hands to Watson's hips. He needed to move faster. To push inside harder. Slamming up in a final motion just as his knot inflated.

He came in a rush.

He'd never.

He wasn't.

He whited out with sensation.

He abstractly noted that he was shouting quite loudly.

Sherlock came to himself while Watson squirmed around his knot in a meltingly pleasurable manner.

"Mmm… so good. Bet if I weren't on birth control, didn't have that condom wrapping that gorgeous cock of yours, I'd be knocked up already. I think I felt three ovum drop when you knotted me. Bet if you could, you'd fertilize every one of them wouldn't you?"

Sherlock had no idea what Watson was going on about. But found himself growling and flexing up. Rubbing his knot inside Watson. Trying to break through the barrier between them. Feel the liquid heat of him.

Watson's scent had grow richer and sweeter. Sherlock wouldn't have thought that possible. He couldn't get enough of it. He panted trying to consume all of it. He came again in another white rush.

"That's right. You'd want to fill me up with triplets. No, a litter of quadruplets."

This line of discussion was bewildering. Some part of Sherlock really did want to know why the Federation continued such an error prone reproductive method when there were far safer methods available with modern technology. He really wanted to know, but he was coming again and really couldn’t be bothered to frame the question.

"Mmm… that's good. You like that idea. Fucking me so full of your babies that I'd hardly be able to walk. So full I look full term by the time I'm done with the first trimester. Breeding me to the point that I become like an animal. Trapped in my bed so you have to take care of me. Feeding and fucking me to make sure that no other alpha tried to take me. Making me nothing but a breeder. You like that idea don't you."

All of that was highly improbable given bio… bio… science things. Sherlock couldn’t make his eyes focus enough to glare. Or speak.

"Bet every time you bit me, marked me with bond bites, I'd drop an egg for you." Watson continued to move around Sherlock's knot. He stretched his neck.

Sherlock growled his approval of the movement. Of the invitation.

He surged up to lock his teeth on the other side of Watson's neck. Marking it as his. Covering Watson's chest with bite marks.

Watson yelled and came again. His muscles clamping around Sherlock's cock, milking another release from Sherlock.

Watson slumped forward.

Sherlock purred in pleasure, while a deep part of Sherlock wailed that he wasn't like this. He might be following his own path, but he wasn't an animal. He was a thinking machine.

Higher than that, almost floating, Sherlock thought, "I want to give you whatever you want."

He must have said that, because Watson squeezed. "You've given me what I want." Shifted. "Mmm…. You feel so good. Fuck, I can feel the condom ballooning. It's pressing against my cervix. Ngh. Wish, I could feel your cum splash inside me. Bet it would be even better. Come for me again."

Sherlock did. How could he not do what Watson asked?

They rocked against each other on the couch. Watson was licking Sherlock's chest when his knot decreased in size enough to slip out.  Watson tried to pull away and laughed when he couldn't. The condom tugged on Sherlock's member, even though the knot had deflated. Watson laughed. "Wow, you filled me so much you made a double knot. Okay, this will be messy."

He leaned forward, rolling the condom off Sherlock's member one handed. The seed that he'd flooded into it now pooled out onto Sherlock. Onto the couch.

He felt dazed. Watson laughed and walked over to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam bloomed out of the bathroom.

Sherlock willed himself to get up.

He lay unmoving. Mind still blown, foundered, shuddering, shaking, quaking by what had occurred.

Watson returned with a damp cloth and a handful of condoms. He was disagreeably cleaned of Sherlock's seed. He wiped Sherlock with the warm cloth. It felt good. His hands on Sherlock's body. His warm smile. His blue eyes. His hands tugging him to his feet. "Come on. Bed."

Sherlock followed Watson meekly. Still shaking slightly. Watson said, "You're amazing. I don't think I've been with an alpha who came more than twice during sex. You came…" Watson leaned back against him, brushing his arse against Sherlock's front back and forth. "Lots."

"Imprecise. Five times." Sherlock glared at Watson, who was laughing.

"There's my professor."

Watson turned, lightly stroked Sherlock's member, which surprisingly had recovered. Perhaps not surprising given Watson's scent, who said, "You're as good as a holosuite." Another crinkle of foil. Watson rolled another condom onto Sherlock. "I've never had a partner who could keep up with me." Watson smiled in a clear challenge.

Shaking stilled. Need bloomed.

Challenge accepted.

Sherlock picked him up in a rapid movement. A hand under each buttock. Held him suspended with nothing to cling to but Sherlock. Thrust into him and then toppled them both backwards. The bed at Watson's back driving Sherlock in deeper. Deeper. He wanted to be deeper. Needed it.

Condoms scattered. Watson laughed. "Fuck, wish I hadn't put that on now. Maybe you could… fuck that feels good." Fingers scraped down Sherlock's back. "Maybe," Watson's heels pushing against Sherlock's sacrum, "pull out and take it off." Lips tasting the skin of Sherlock's arm. "We're clean." He wheedled, while panting and moving against Sherlock. "I'm on birth control."

Nothing in Watson's movements could have allowed Sherlock to pull out.

Sherlock couldn't have pulled out of Watson if his life depended on it. Even though there was something artificial. Something he wanted gone. He couldn't do anything but piston inside Watson. Loving the wet slapping sound. The delighted cries from Watson's mouth. The tight hot grip of Watson's flexing, moving body. Growled at the artificial thing separating him from Watson. His knot was a rapidly growing obstacle to being fully embedded. He did not allow that to stop him. It was a sweet resistance to his withdrawal before his rapid re-entry.

Watson held his hands against the headboard to keep from being slammed into it. He was now reduced to wordless, "Ngh, ngh," and finally, "Professor! Now!"

Sherlock slammed inside Watson as his knot expanded again. He didn't wait for a request to bite Watson's neck. Sinking his teeth in again as he came.

Watson's body squeezed Sherlock's through his orgasm. Squeezing the release that Sherlock was filling into the condom. He sighed, "Wish could feel that splashing in me." Then in a harder tone, matched by the scrape of his teeth on Sherlock's chest. "Need it. Want it. More. Give it."

Sherlock gave more and more.

The omega was separated by nothing but a thin barrier. His scent intoxicatingly sweet. Ripe. Ready. All Sherlock had to do was flex his hips, tugging on the material of the condom. Stretched by his seed. Trapped by his knot. The omega cried out in pain and pleasure as the condom burst. The omega came again, contracting, pulling Sherlock's seed deeper. "Fuck. Better. So, good. Good alpha. Broke the condom for me. Filling me. Bet you wish you were breeding me. Fucking me so full of your babies that I couldn't even move for the last trimester. You want that don't you?"

Sherlock purred at the idea.

Lucidity became a distant thing. Sherlock was somewhat aware of coming again and again on the omega's command that he do so. Five. Six times perhaps. It was unclear. 

When he was spent, he curled himself around the omega, licking at the bite marks to heal them. Only letting go of the omega to fling the shredded condom wetly against a wall. This time, neither of them got up. They lay tangled and sticky together. Sherlock firmly wrapping an arm and leg around the omega and not letting him go. Not letting him go wash off his seed. Ensuring he remained in the nest. This was critical in case another alpha scented his heat.

"Mmmm… a cuddler."

Sherlock snuffled into the omega's neck and kept up his vital work. Instinct urged him on. He must not fall asleep. He must satisfy the omega, or he might leave. Be claimed by another alpha.

His mind sluggishly tried to remember the chemical compound another alpha would release to prevent any eggs Sherlock had fertilized from attaching to the walls of the omega's womb. Fertilizing the omega to bear with his own children. He must fill the omega's womb with his own markers. Ensure all the eggs the omega had dropped in response to knotting could attach. Rubbed and pleased the omega to coax him to stay.

He licked the omega to heal any wounds.

The omega said, "Fuck, yeah. I'm ready to go again." He slid a hand down Sherlock's member. He whined, not wanting the omega to put another barrier between them. Wanting to feel the omega's slick heat. "You're already hard. Never had an alpha who could keep up. Never."

Sherlock growled at the idea of another alpha touching this nubile omega, which shifted to a pleased rumble as the omega rolled over lifting his hips in an obvious invitation for Sherlock to mount him. No barriers between them. Just warm wet welcoming flesh that took him in. That rocked back against him until they were locked together. His body squeezing and pulling everything Sherlock had to give, commanding more, until they collapsed side by side. Sherlock only partially withdrawing, not wanting to pull out before the next round, but still doing his best to tend to the omega. Rocking gently inside him. Pleasing him. Sliding his hands up and down the omega's body, until the omega was ready again.

Straining against each other where they lay.

Eventually the omega twisted away, pulling Sherlock out of him, mumbling, "Fuck your stamina. Sleep." That worried Sherlock. Sherlock curled his larger body around the omega nuzzling hm. Caging him under his leg and arm. He glared at the door keeping watch while the omega snored.

Finally, omega sleepily squirmed his arse against Sherlock's member in an unmistakable manner. His scent unbearably rich and sweet. Fecund. Sherlock was painfully hard from hours of waiting.

Sherlock pushed inside the omega. It was not quite the right angle to suit them, but the omega clearly didn't want to move. Sherlock's member couldn't quite breach the omega up to his womb from this angle. He did his best. Playing with the omega's member until he came.

"Mfph," muttered the omega, who rolled over onto his front, shoving a pillow under his hips. Sherlock growled his approval of this position. Neither of them was any more coherent as Sherlock's hips slapped against the rounded curves of the omega's buttocks. His lips placed for kisses on the omega's spine.

The omega yowled in pleasure when Sherlock knotted him again. Filled him. Again. The omega's neck had healed enough for Sherlock to renew the scars with fresh bites that had omega coming into the sheets of their nest. Squeezing around Sherlock. He babbled about how round and full Sherlock would make him. How good a job Sherlock would do filling him with their children.

Finally, his scent shifted again. Settling into something earthier and somehow heavy. Sherlock relaxed. He'd pleased the omega through his heat. Bred him through all of it.

He tried to stay awake.

But something in that warm happy contentment had him relaxing too well.

He fell asleep.

A failure for an alpha.

When he woke, bleary rationality tried to regain some hold on him like a moth eaten coat. What had occurred the previous day tried to take shape. Mostly forming itself in half remembered tastes and groans and white explosions.

That Mr. Watson was not in the bed or the bedroom was not a keen deduction, but there it was.

Mr. Watson was humming in the next room. He came in freshly showered. Dressed. His scent fresh and clean. He smelled like a sunlight through forest trees. English oaks. Like an omega who had been well satisfied through their heat.

"Oh, good you're awake. I didn't want to leave while you were sleeping, but I have class. We slept the morning away."

At this reminder of their relative relationship, that he had shared repeated coitus with a student, Sherlock blanched.

"Oh, don't worry. It's not that big a deal." Mr. Watson winked at him. Sherlock was reminded that Mr. Watson had infinitely more experience than he did. That many, including one Professor Sholto, had coupled with Mr. Watson's to shared mutual pleasure.

Mr. Watson bent down and gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you. That was brilliant. I don't think I've ever been that thoroughly shagged. And that swirl thing you did with your cock when we were on our sides. Amazing." He chuckled. "See you later."

He walked out of the room as if what had happened was nothing. Meant nothing. Perhaps to him it was merely one of a series of events. An insignificant one. Not the shattering of his own belief in himself.

When he was gone, Sherlock's quarters were unbearably quiet.

Sherlock considered getting up, but instead rolled over in his sheets to breathe in Mr. Watson's scent.

It was somewhat inevitable that his wall monitor chimed that he had an incoming visitor. Mycroft did have a preternatural way of choosing the worst time to contact him.

_"Although," said Mycroft from the portrait hall, "Given the tinkering Mother did with my DNA, preternatural isn't quite the right word. Not that I'd expect you to select the correct one. Little brother."_

"Sod off," Sherlock said to both the communication on his wall and to the Mycroft in his mind. He rolled over wallowing in the sheets.

Unfortunately, Mycroft walked into the room. He twirled that transport stick of his. "Oh, little brother. I…" he breathed in deeply, "see you've failed to control yourself fairly spectacularly. If you were at home, this would never have been allowed to happen. I told you that you wouldn't be able to control yourself when confronted with Augment Inferiors."

"Sod off." Sherlock considered his next word. "Bollocks."

"That would appear to be your realm. Dare I ask if your little adventure to prove yourself will have you imitating our progenitors in other regards? Will your inamorata Inferior be making a blessed little announcement?"

"Sod off." Sherlock burrowed his face in this pillow. Well aware that the only saving grace in this situation was that Mr. Watson was on birth control. His inability to control himself had not torpedoed Mr. Watson's career. Although, the word torpedo was perhaps unfortunate, as he winced at where the thought led him.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "I'm not here on my own recognizance. Although, as always, I'm desperately worried about you. It's not safe here and Mummy agrees. We want you to come home."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, brother mine, it wasn't a request." The familiar tingle of a transporter rendered the entire day absolutely worth deleting by rematerializing him exactly where he did not want to be still tangled in his cum twisted sheets.

"Hello, Mummy," he told his mother for the culmination of this utter failure of a morning.


	3. Martha Hudson POV

Martha had had what one might call a varied career.  So many interesting assignments. Oh, the stories she could tell.

If they weren't entirely classified.

Her current assignment was more benign. Administration at Starfleet Academy. Helping young minds. It was a bit trying at times all the thoughts young minds flung about. Young people seemed to think they'd invented sex. And venereal disease scares. And pregnancy scares. And sex.

Really, it was so much relaxing than her assignment being married to an Orion Drug Lord.

She supposed at her age, Starfleet and by extension a certain organization that did not exist considered this more her speed.

So relaxing.

Fine, she was bored and wished there could be something a bit more.


	4. John POV

John felt fantastic. Better than fantastic. Fabulous. Glowing. Incandescent. Given he couldn't have gotten more than an hours' sleep all night, he had no idea why.

That was a lie. Every sore stretched muscle in his extremely well used body knew why.

He stopped by his room to get his pad. Bill peered at him and shook his head. "Only you could turn a lab accident into an opportunity to get laid. Who or what was it this time?"

John grinned at him and brushed by him to visit the loo. He was sure the number of times the Professor had bitten him, his neck had to be one solid hickey. But it didn't hurt at all. He'd been too blissed out at the time on endorphins to care, but any bites really did need to be seen to.

Except there weren't any open injuries.

He stared at faint pale marks on either side of his neck, examining one and then the other. "Mirror, magnification by ten." The holo mirror updated with the requested magnification. "Freeze image." Even on high magnification the marks were more like old scars, unmistakably teeth marks, but like something that had been there for years than the results of something the night before.

He checked the old scar on his left leg where he'd cut himself with sheet metal by way of comparison, but that was entirely gone. He laughed at himself. Professor Holmes probably hadn't even broken the skin. The marks could simply be an allergic reaction to whatever it was that had spilled last night.

He also laughed at himself. Fucking all night and still thinking of the Professor as Professor Holmes. Course he generally liked to keep a little distance with his fuck buddies. Made it easier not to slip up elsewhere.

But Professor Holmes wasn't like anyone John had ever been with.

Fantastic and intense. Insatiable. He'd done things with his cock that just… there had been a point when John felt like there were starbursts exploding in his ovaries as he dropped ovum, which was purely beyond the mind blowing orgasms. Course, that's where all the crazy pregnancy talk had come from, but there wasn't alpha out there who didn't get turned on by that sort of thing.

Except, generally John was left wanting more. This time John had been the one to fall asleep exhausted and satisfied.

It had blown all of his fantasies in the holo suite out of space and into atmo.

The end of the semester wasn't far off. Too far to wait for more non-heat driven fun, but close enough it shouldn't cause a problem. He grinned thinking that the conversation about going off his suppressants had just gotten a whole lot easier.

John whistled on his way to class. He smiled all the way through. He stopped by Holmes' office, but he wasn't there at their usual time for dinner. Which he supposed made sense. The alpha had worked hard the night before. He probably needed to sleep.

Weekend came and still no word from Professor Holmes, which was worrying.

John wondered if he was the only one who'd been blown away by that night, but no. John knew sex and that had been fantastic.

John covered Professor Holmes class on Monday. The academy office said he'd called in sick. A few more days went by.

A full week.

John woke up to find Bill sniffing the room. John said, "What?"

"Have you been burning incense?"

John stared at him. Because John was not an incense kind of guy. The stuff made him sneeze. It made all Augments sneeze. Perfume too for that matter.

"Fine, it just smells. Really," Bill waved a hand. "I don't know. Like chai tea got together with cedar and sandalwood, and exploded or something."

John couldn't smell anything off, which was odd. His sense of smell was many times better than Bill's.

"Fine. See you later." Bill rushed off to his first class of the day, because Bill didn't think things through and had morning classes.

John stretched and immediately regretted it. He felt a burning cramp like a cat scraped at his internal organs. He curled in his bed gasping for air. He huddled under his covers. He ordered a hot pad from the replicator, left a message for Professor Holmes that he was feeling sick, and curled under the covers wondering if he'd caught something from the Professor.

Wishing the Professor would come over and order him soup or hold him or something. Which was ridiculous.

Over the course of the morning, he was too miserable to care. Over a dozen violent cramps had him bent over, gasping for air. The next one occurring as the previous one's pain faded.

He was even more worried when he found tiny spots of blood in his pants.

Unlike Normal Human women, omegas had an estrous cycle rather than a menstrual cycle. If they weren't messing around with suppressants, heat didn't even show up except during the winter. Omega's bodies were built to reabsorb the endometrium if conception didn't occur. He'd never read about an omega having pains after a heat, but then again as with many areas of study, omega health was frequently neglected.

By the next day, he felt better.  A little nauseous. The smell of Bill's coffee almost had him vomiting. However, his internal organs no longer felt like they were trying to expel themselves from his body.

Worse, he got a message from the Academy office.

"Hello, Mr. Watson. Professor Holmes, has been called home for a family emergency. I believe you're his T.A. No need to say anything. Will you be able to cover his classes for the next two weeks or will I need to find additional coverage?"

John stood still. Taking that in. Professor Holmes was… they'd had this… and now he was gone. John didn't quite know what to think. He could have left for a real reason, in which case John'd be a dick for minding, but still it felt like being abandoned.

"Are you there?"

"Yes, I have his assignment plans. I can cover his classes."

A week passed.

John felt tired and washed out. Tender around his glands. His low level nausea continued. Certain smells made him want to vomit. It was probably just the Venuvian flu that was going around. Campus was a hot house for disease vectors, and he certainly wasn't making it better by dragging himself to class and to teach Exbio.

The marks on his neck didn't fade. So, not a chemical reaction. Mostly hidden by his uniform collar. But worrying given that the pale outlines were turning a bright red, which was a sign of something John didn't want. Very much did not want.

It was more of a rumor among Augments than something that generally happened. John had only read about it in one medical journal. Breeding marks, or as the plays liked to call them 'bond marks' if they were feeling poetic. A little pigmentation indicator that the original scientists had put as one more fucking present in their DNA. Most Augments didn't even have the marker that caused it. It was meant to indicate that a particularly successful breeding pair had mated, because those scientists had been misogynistic cisgendered male arseholes with no doubt sad lives of wanking before their own creations killed them.

John was on birth control. Nothing could get through his cervix and if it did get through, it couldn't attach, which was difficult enough for Augments anyway. Omegas were built to drop lots of ovum, but those scientists hadn't thought through what enhancing healing and immune systems would do to uterine walls. Made womb walls of iron that were very difficult for a tiny blastocyst to penetrate for an invasion, so to speak. It was fine. These marks were simply a reaction to the sudden heat.

Anyway, there were more important problems.

Bigger problems.

All anyone could talk about was the rumors that a Borg cube had been spotted near Deep Space Five headed for Sector One. There was nothing that spread faster than gossip among ship's crew.

The school superintendent, Rear Admiral Brand, called an assembly to essentially tell everyone to calm the fuck down.

It didn't work.

John's classes were reduced to discussions of Borg capabilities. Although, John tried to keep Professor Holmes' classes focused on studying the chemistry and exobiology of the Borg interfaces. Professor Holmes had written several papers on the subject so it wasn't hard to pull something together.

Sometimes, in the evening, when John would read Professor Holmes work, he'd pause and smile at a particularly sarcastic turn of phrase. Although, he didn't read the Professor's report on the two hundred types of cytoplasmic lifeforms. That was a bit much.

Another week went by, but Professor Holmes didn't return. Instead the head office asked him if he could cover Professor Holmes classes for, "Just another week."

John continued to drag through his days. He told himself that if he didn't feel better by the next week, he'd go into the campus clinic for a full workup.

He didn't. Although he had a pretty good excuse. The bulk of Star Fleet's capital ships were being sent to Wolf 359 to confront the Borg ship.

Everyone at the academy knew someone or was at least familiar with someone on a ship that was heading out. John knew at least three former lovers who'd be heading out.

All classwork came to a halt. Everyone just kept playing out scenarios for how the battle would go. There were bound to be at least a few casualties. Although, confidence was high.

John reread Professor Holmes papers on the Borg as if that would provide himself some clue as to what to do. He hoped the Professor would stay wherever he was. Just in case.

It was a shock one morning when he ordered his usual uniform and it didn't fit. He must have said something, because Bill laughed. "I had noticed that you'd gained a bit of weight. Didn't want to say anything. Not that I mind your ummm…" he gestured at his own chest area, "getting bigger."

John cupped his chest and found that his A negative cup had developed a little heft. He was at least a B cup. Approaching a C cup. The tissue felt tender. He went into the loo and stared at his naked body in the holo mirror. There was a slightly rounded curve to his belly. The flesh was firm to the touch. It wasn't fat. If anything the tissue was slightly hard.

He told himself not to panic. He was on the very best birth control that could be replicated.

For Normal Humans.

It could be a simple weight gain brought on by stress.

He hadn't been able to eat more than weak broth for weeks.

He didn't bother with a pregnancy test.

He was a medical student. He found an empty biobay in the middle of the night. He ran a scanner over his abdomen and felt his legs weaken at the readout.

He was pregnant. Very pregnant. Very, very pregnant. So, very, very, very pregnant. Ridiculously pregnant.

He ran the scan again. Thirteen tiny shapes, each no larger than a sesame seed were attached to the lining of his womb. He laughed weakly. A baker's dozen. The marks on his neck had been trying to tell him that he was fucked, just as they'd been designed to do.

He ran his hands over his face as he took all this in. He'd picked the lock of Professor's Holmes bathroom. It suddenly occurred to him that Professor Holmes must have taken refuge in his bathroom out of concern over the contaminants that they'd been exposed to. There was no knowing how the chemical spilled in Professor Anderson's lab had interfered with John's birth control.

Beyond inducing an early heat, dropping all the eggs, and convincing his cervix to allow all the sperm to come on in and setup shop. To allow as many fertilized eggs to attach to his uterus walls than was even remotely reasonable for gestation.

He felt sick thinking how happy he'd been when the condom burst. How he'd rolled over and presented himself to be well and truly fucked. How he'd been the one to go on and on about how good a job Professor Holmes would do breeding him. Had felt the ovum drop every time he'd gotten that knot he'd begged for. Not that he'd been coherent enough to count. Just demanded to go again.

John had completed his course on basic humanoid gestation. He knew that so many fertilized eggs couldn't possibly survive in vitro. They'd compete for resources. There would be a reenactment of the Eugenics wars, except inside of him. John didn't have the kind of immune response that attacked little invading zygotes like the alien entities that they were. Another reason it was hard for Augments to carry to term.

Instead, the weak were going die inside him while the strong survived. The pregnancy hormones from the fetuses that remained would increase until he tipped him over into a purely instinctive state.

He didn't need to see the tiny amount of clinical research out there. He'd seen when his Cousin Shelly had a litter of four. That's what they called it when an omega had a high multiple order pregnancy. As if they were an animal. Litters.

Shelly had started out with more, but then the Eugenics pregnancy wars happened.

By the time she'd been four months pregnant, she'd looked full term. Exhausted already. As the months progressed, he'd seen the light and personality dim in her eyes. She'd grown reclusive. Instinctual. Animalistic. Nesting in her room. Attacking anyone other than family who tried come inside. It had made him want to go back in time and bash the scientists who'd designed Augments with a two by four plank.

Shelly's life hadn't gotten any better when the children came. She'd had to stop touring with his parent's company. It was that or reduce a company of actors to baby minders. She'd had to go on public assistance to help with the babies, which fine. That's what it was for to help citizens. But she'd stopped singing. Stopped making art. Smiling. She was always exhausted. Especially after the arsehole she'd been seeing had messed with her birth control. Another pregnancy leaving her with seven children under the age of three. Teaming kids who'd always been pooping and screaming. Total hellions even ten years later. Although, Mum claimed that came from a lack of discipline, but John failed to see how Shelly could impose any when she was that outnumbered.

He had a pretty good idea what he was in for. It wasn't that he was against having a child. Some day. When he had a career. A child.

But this would wash him out of Starfleet even if none of them managed to make it to term.

Oh, the Counselors said an omega could have children and still serve, but they meant one, when an omega was in their mid-thirties and even then they were stuck with duty at a Starbase for the rest of their career. Or worse, found that they washed out. No space travel. No exploration. No working as a doctor. Not serving.

Needing services. A static. Another omega for Normals to tut and point at as example to their own exceptional children.

He ran the scan again. The thirteen shapes were still there.

This was still real.

He forced himself to think. He had to think. He hadn't clawed his way past other applicants, worked twice as hard to have biology turn against him.

He could go to a clinic. Be given any number of abortifacients, but that would go on his permanent medical record. His service record. As an omega, he'd be required to take mandatory classes on the high risk behavior of living in his body. His career shot all to hell as surely as he'd been shot full of the Professor's cum.

A non-Federation clinic would require a trip off planet. Time off. Requiring an explanation. He was in the military. His time was not his own. Even if he had the social credits to pay for a trip like that, which he didn't

Course, there was the down and dirty method. The Bruce effect. Be around as many alphas as he could find. Not that there were ever that many in one place. Easier to fuck another alpha. Once implantation had occurred, he shuddered just thinking about the word, the hormones in in the semen of a strange alpha – an alpha who hadn't impregnated him – would affect the growing umbilical connection of the fetuses. They'd starve. Leaving him to miscarry over and over.

Which, leaving aside his sudden wave of protectiveness, his hands clenched over his slightly rounded middle, that would just take him back to the clinic, and automatically washing out of the Academy for a host of regs.

Then the other shoe dropped, because if Professor Holmes hadn't gone on leave, John would have gone back to his quarters the next day. Done his very best to get a repeat and his very best was very good. It would have been so good. Even terrified, he couldn't help but squirm a little thinking about it.

They'd have met with increasing frequency. Hormones convincing John to take more and more risks. The likelihood of getting caught increasing every time they met. The hormonal signatures in Professor Holmes' sperm would triggered the release of a cocktail of hormones, all designed to make an alpha want to stick around and care for the omega, who'd they'd successfully bred.

There'd have been no way of keeping the information from the Professor once John's scent shifted. Instincts in both of them would have encouraged John to keep the parasites – not even as helpful as a Trill symbiont – that could kill him in dozens of ways.

Knocked up. Washed out. Increasing oxytocin levels throughout pregnancy making John crave the Professor's thick hard cock. Leading to increased dependency and isolation. A feedback loop as he pushed everyone else away.

Biology that would have made John that cock whore. Trading desire in exchange for the assurance that the big strong alpha who had bred him would stick around to care for him through the end of the pregnancy.

Didn't happen.

Wasn't going to happen.

John was just going to have to think a way out of this. He was smart. Top of his class.

He could do this.

There was a nifty device to remove metastasizing tumors. There was even a mechanism to save the data about the tumor for analysis. Not enough data. Because, something in John shied away from not saving the data.

Suddenly he thought of it. An article he'd read about an engineering feat with a transporter that Commander Scot had pulled off while stuck inside a Dyson sphere. As food and air ran out, he'd found a way to cycle his information through a transporter data buffer. The difficulty had been in preserving his neural networks. But John didn't need to worry about that. Differentiated nerve functions wouldn't develop until the fifth month and memory development didn't occur into well into the third trimester.

John had a week before his next required medical checkup. He hiccupped a laugh. To make sure he hadn't caught an STD. He'd caught a sexually transmitted disease alright.

He wasn't an engineer. He was a doctor, but since he wasn't a doctor working with only cat gut and needles, he had some ideas.

He pinged a few friends. Subtly. Did some more reading on Commander Scott's report. Ran the plans through the replicator. Ran simulations in the holosuite on the Professor's account. Tested on a few tribbles.

Did not sleep. Ran through his classes. Assigned a free study in the Professor's class and asked them to surprise him with solutions.

Looked like pure shite enough that Bill gave him shite about it.

But he finished his utero-transporter before the end of the week. Stared at it gleaming in the replicator. His fingers shook as he picked it up. He placed it over his abdomen. Ran it. He felt a sudden warm glow inside him. A sudden sense of emptiness as his belly hollowed out.

He read the interface. The data for all thirteen zygotes had been saved to the data crystal of a holostatis cube. It would run for the next thousand years on its current charge. He had no idea how he'd reimplant if he wanted, but that wasn't… he wasn't.

His hand shook as he held the tiny cube. Smaller than the palm of his hand.

He demattered the utero-transporter. He cycled the replicator's memory to purge the request, but kept the design in his personal files. It was the sort of thing that could make a Starfleet career.

Any career in the sciences, but with no way to explain why he'd developed it, he simply saved it.

He didn't want to be famous. He just wanted to serve.

John ordered an oak box from the replicator and put the data crystal carefully inside.

He went back to his dorm room. He made himself act as if nothing had changed. He pretended that he was distracted by the upcoming battle at Wolf 359. All the while thinking about life and death.

His scent shifted back to normal.

He changed his damned birth control to the type including estrogen and progestin. He was not having a repeat of this ever again.

When he thought about it, he told himself to think about the Borg.

He did end up having an awkward call with his mum, because she noticed the marks on his neck peeking out over his collar. Of course, she noticed. After she finished hyperventilating about a grandmother and how she'd thought he'd gotten past his teen years. He interrupted her to tell her that there had been a lab accident – true enough – and let her think that Augments natural biology had prevented anything from running any sort of course. Which then led to more awkward discussion. Maybe if he hadn't been feeling so raw he wouldn't have admitted that it was Professor Holmes, but it was his mum and he needed to talk.

He may have vented a bit about Professor Holmes doing a runner immediately after, which had Mum declaiming in good style before telling him that he could always come home if he wanted.

Soon after the call, he got a notice that Professor Holmes had returned to campus. He stared at the message for long minutes.

There was a non-zero chance that Professor Holmes wouldn't know what the marks on John's neck meant.

He went to Kell Hall. Stood in the door just staring. Professor Holmes looked tired. There were smudges of white silica powder on his uniform. "Rough trip?"

A smile flashed briefly across the Professor's face. "You have observed correctly for once. It would seem that my influence is rubbing off on you." Professor Holmes froze, looking startled.

Probably remembering all the other kinds of rubbing that they'd done. Perhaps observing the marks on John's neck, which hadn't faded. Wouldn't fade. Would only ever fade if he bred with another alpha into a new configuration.

Professor Holmes stood up straighter. Held his hands in front of his lips as if praying, before lowering them carefully to his sides.  "You're clearly hesitant to come in. You've run your hand at least five times through your hair since entering the building. There is a distinct sharp odor to your scent. Clearly you are feeling uncomfortable given what occurred. I want to assure you that that was aberration. I am married to my work. My body is nothing but transport, nothing more. You need have no concern."

John wanted to protest that he'd been angling for something not that far off from what had happened. Not the last bit, but better birth control and it would have been fine. "No problem. It's all fine now." 

What Professor Holmes might have answered was cut off by a red alert.

The Borg were in Earth's orbit.


	5. Jennifer Sisko POV

Jennifer contacted her father-in-law, Joseph, as soon as word came that the USS Saratoga was being sent with the rest of the hastily assembled fleet to face the Borg at Wolf 359.

It was the middle of the night in New Orleans, so it took a while before he answered. He appeared on the monitor puffy eyed and wild haired.

"I'm sorry to contact you so late, and I can't give you any details, but I need to send Jake to come stay with you for a little while."

"Of course, it's not a problem." Joseph's face creased with a smile. "Remember now that I don't have a fancy replicator at my place, so don't be sending him here without any shoes on."

Jennifer was never going to live that incident down. Never. "I will pack clothes for at least a couple of weeks. He'll be arriving on a shuttle in a few days. Starfleet can handle transporting him to you when he gets to Earth."

"Nonsense, I'll be there to meet him in San Francisco when he arrives," said Joseph staunchly. "I'll see if any of the rest of the family can come down from Seattle. We'll have a little family reunion right there."

Jennifer wanted to tell Joseph not go to that trouble. That Starfleet was trying not to create a panic. Although, how they thought evacuating children from the dozens of ships that had families on board wasn't going to raise attention, Jennifer didn't know. As it was she had the chilling thought that if they didn't succeed, Earth was no haven.

She said as much to Benjamin when he got off shift.

He told her, "Starfleet is throwing everything they have at this. I'm glad to know that Jake will be off-board. I just wish that non-combat personnel were being ordered off as well."

Which… sore point.

Jennifer might not be a combatant, but she did have medical training. If she could save lives by being on board, then she needed to stay. She put some of that thought into how she folded underwear into the duffle that she'd replicated for Jake.

Benjamin let it drop. She let it dropped. She accepted his kiss to her cheek. "Were you able to get ahold of pops?"

"Yes." A bare statement.

Jennifer wasn't sure if fourteen socks was too many socks or the right amount. She replicated a couple of extra pairs just in case.

"Did he mentioned the shoes again?" asked Benjamin, taking the stack of shirts.

"He did at that. Jake will be a grown ass adult and your father will still be making jokes about those shoes."

Benjamin hummed his agreement and gathered up some of Jake's favorite toys. His baseball glove. A few dolls he was almost grown out of. The bat didn't fit in the bag, but they were able to strap it onto the outside. They woke Jake. Her baby looked at her sleepily. "Is it time?"

"That it is, kiddo." She wanted to hug him and tell him that he wasn't going anywhere without her. Instead she made sure he put his shoes on, and she and Benjamin got him settled onto his shuttle. Told him that they loved him, which had him rolling his eyes and looking embarrassed.

Jennifer was his mother. It was her job to embarrass her son with her love. So she repeated herself and watched through the force field as the shuttle took off.

"Are we doing the right thing?" She meant was she doing the right thing. She could have asked to go on leave, but she was needed. She could help.

Benjamin squeezed her shoulders. "He'll be fine." She allowed him to convince her and they went back to their quarters to try to squeeze some sleep out of the night before the battle that was to come.


	6. Sherlock POV

The order to take shelter was ridiculous. Sherlock hadn't spent weeks escaping Mummy's attempts to keep him safe – inculcated, suffocated, surrounded – to simply hide in a shelter.

Weeks lost.

Weeks in which Mr. Watson had been alone. The marks on his neck a clear indication of the complete and utter failure of Mr. Watson's Starfleet provided birth control.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Sherlock had known that Mr. Watson had been on the progestin only contraceptive, but that result of their activities had never even occurred to him while he'd striven, cajoled, connived, crawled through the dust on the Mare of Acquisition to get back to… the academy. There were admittedly good reasons that this had never occurred to him. 

He needed to focus on the matter to hand.

In his absence, Mr. Watson had dealt with the situation, or more probably simple biology had rendered the situation… null.

Null.

Loss.

Mr. Watson had been… there was the matter of the immanent assimilation of all life on Earth.

Sherlock accessed the monitors from the moon base. As he'd suspected, since Star Fleet Command had ignored all his suggestions and consigned him to teaching at the Academy, the Borg ship had easily overcome the main fleet.

Sherlock looked at Mr. Watson, who was watching the ships in Earth's orbit crack and splinter. "If I suggested that we go on an unauthorized and unsanctioned mission aboard the Borg ship, would you be interested?"

"Yes," Mr. Watson rocked on his feet. Much more at ease than he had been during the previous conversation, which was good. It was all fine. Everything was restored.

 _Window curtains in Sherlock's mind palace were pulled back. Heavy drapes removed. Light streamed into him at Mr. Watson's next question._ "But how we can get over there?"

"I have a ship of my own design." Sherlock tapped his communicator. "Two to beam over to Hanger 221b." They materialized in the hanger bay where Sherlock stored the Bee Sting.

"I don't know if I'd call that a ship." Mr. Watson crouched down next to the Bee Sting. "It looks like a photon torpedo.

"That did have a role in the design." Sherlock tapped several controls and the Bee Sting opened to reveal the narrow compartment large enough to hold a prone individual. He looked at Mr. Watson. "It may be a tight fit."

Mr. Watson looked around. "We'll need some weapons."

"No." Sherlock rocked on his feet. Energized. Wanting to explode. Wanting to see Mr. Watson in action. Violent. Conquering. Triumphant. "They will largely be useless after the first time we fire them."

"So, lots of different guns." Mr. Watson looked at the Bee Sting, "Are we both going to fit in that?"

Sherlock calculated. "Yes." It was a tight fit. It was necessary for Mr. Watson to bend his knees and rest his head on Sherlock's abdomen, which was in no way distracting.

In no way.

His warm breath ghosting over Sherlock's genitals while he was programming their flight path. Their extremely complicated flight path.

_Sherlock took refuge in a tower of his mind palace, while still remotely accessing his head and arms. This was necessary entirely because of the complexity of what he needed to do and nothing to do with the warm body curled on top of him._

As he explained to Mr. Watson, "The trick isn't to slam into the Borg's force field, but to emit a constantly varying low subspace distortion and slowly rock through it. This may appear that we are occasionally going backwards, but I assure you it is part of the process."

Mr. Watson chuckled, which Sherlock felt even from where he was in his mind palace. "Sorry, it's just the visual of what it is this ship is currently doing is… very fucking evocative."

Sherlock sniffed. "I have no idea what you mean. In any case, we're in."

"Amazing."

_That familiar word, not heard for weeks, lit several hearth fires to light, but Sherlock didn't have time to dwell on the sensation._

He guided the Bee Sting into the Borg ship. When they had accessed an area with atmosphere, he set down.

Mr. Watson rolled out of the capsule and stretched. "Can't say much about the accommodations. Now what?"

"You will provide cover fire me with the array of weaponry that you selected, while I," Sherlock delicately picked up his invention by its silver bowl, "carry out my plan."

"Which is?"

Sherlock winked at him and ran down a corridor in the direction that that the Enterprise schematics from a previous survey mission indicated the regeneration alcove would be. Sherlock pointed the bowl at the three Borg, currently standing in pods for their down cycle and made several adjustments.

"What are we doing? Are you going to send them a signal so they all go into a sleep cycle? Is that why you're examining the Borgs that are sleeping?"

"No. They are not sleeping. They are bio-machines. They have been turned off until there is a purpose for them."

Obvious.

Sherlock went down another corridor and located another set of Borg regeneration alcoves. He made another set of adjustments.

There was a clanking sound. Several Borg walked by them. "Do not fire, yet," said Sherlock.

Mr. Watson said, "They walked right by us."

"They don't perceive us as a threat." Sherlock made several adjustments. The Borg kept walking, not identifying the signature that Sherlock had left on them as an attack.

The Borg ship shuddered. Given the pattern, presumably Luna Base had deployed the old rail gun. The Moon did have plenty of rocks. The Borg would adapt, but it was certainly an idea. Not a good idea, but it would give Sherlock time to complete his plan. Although, if they'd listened to him this could have been accomplished without a battle. Without losses.

The Borg ship dimmed. His research indicated that they would be rerouting power to towards main weapon's systems. "Mr. Watson, come on." Sherlock ran down corridors. He made adjustments to several more Borg.

"Are you uploading a virus into them while they're sleeping? They're all connected right?"

"A virus! No!" Sherlock sneered at the idiocy of this idea.

Sherlock stopped.

His mind whirring. "You're accidentally brilliant. Not the actual virus idea. That's moronic, but as a delivery mechanism. Yes!" Sherlock tapped into a node and uploaded multiple variations of his device's signature for each of the various systems: Engineering, Weapons, and so on.

When he was done, he said, "We should take cover."

"From what?"

Sherlock grinned. He took them down a level and into a gestation unit. "They should avoid attacking this facility. Nothing here could possibly be a threat. Although," he pointed at Mr. Watson's weapons, "You may want to be prepared to use those just in case."

Mr. Watson was staring in horror at the uterine replicators currently gestating a crop of infant Borg. "This is horrifying."

"Nothing of the sort. It's efficient." Sherlock glanced briefly at the fetuses being delicately laced with implants. "One, two, and three." He turned on the signal that would trigger his updates.

Outside there was an explosion. A Borg marched down the hallway and was caught in crossfire.

A cybernetic arm skidded by the opening from another direction. A Borg came around the corner a canon raised.

Mr. Watson fired at the Borg with a phaser rifle on kill. The Borg took a direct hit. Unfortunately, the Borg behind it adapted. Mr. Watson threw down the phaser rifle and fired a Klingon disrupter. Another Borg down. Another Borg adapted. "This is ridiculous." Mr. Watson fired at the floor below the Borg. It dropped down to the next level. Mr. Watson grinned at Sherlock. "They may have shields. But the floor doesn't."

"Clever." Not a word Sherlock used lightly. Another Borg came towards the door. Another hole in the floor. "I may have miscalculated. They would appear to be attracted to attacking this facility rather than the reverse. He spun on his heel. "Why? The fetuses are no threat." He stopped. "Oh! Of course, I've been an idiot. We need to get out of here."

"What is going on?"

"Later." Sherlock jumped over the holes in the floor and took three turns and down some stairs. They passed several fire fights between groups of Borgs. As he'd expected the Borg with his applied signatures had located each other to form units all the better to shoot at each other. Several were now applying Mr. Watson's floor trick. Excellent. Although, it was making the way a bit like running on Swiss cheese.

They reached the level where the Bee Sting was located. A far better place to wait in any case. Sherlock climbed inside. Mr. Watson climbed in with him. He'd abandoned several of the weapons, holding on to the disruptor. Mr. Watson rested roughly head level with Sherlock. "What did you do?"

"Simple biology." Sherlock pursed his lips wanted to stretch this out the deliciousness of the moment. Of the response that Mr. Watson was sure to give him.  "The Borg function all as a single entity. Many parts that are somewhat autonomous, but with the same purpose. Much like ants or bees. Now what happens when ants from a different colony enter another's colony's territory? Even more so, enter the nest itself."

"Brilliant! They go to war." Mr. Watson's breath was warm against Sherlock's face. The scent of his pheromones particularly strong within the enclosed chamber. His blue eyes were glowed by the light of the explosions outside the capsule.

"Precisely. I modulated the frequency of their communication to make them think they weren't from the same collective. Multiple collectives all within a single space."

"That is incredible." Mr. Watson's eyes were wide. His gaze was soft. His deep. Soft. Rich. Intoxicating.

_Every hearth fire in Sherlock's mind palace was blazing. The grand fireplace in the throne room was burning the trunk of a mighty oak._

Sherlock cast about for more revelations that would elicit more praise. "That's why they attacked the gestational unit. Those units perceived the occupants to be the young of another collective and Borg units were moving to destroy it."

"What?" Mr. Watson pulled back, hitting his head against the side wall of the chamber. "And we just left them there? To die? Infants?"

"Borg. Yes, we left Borg behind to be killed by other Borg." Sherlock could not understand why this was bothering Mr. Watson. It was simple biology. Beings protected their own offspring and attacked the offspring of competitors. It was the reason for his own parent's effort to combine their genetics in himself. Otherwise, Mummy would have stopped with Mycroft.

"You're… I… I'm glad I didn't…that's horrible."

_Cold water doused on the hearth fires. Plumes of soot and ash were going everywhere. He scrambled to find his footing in the smoke and steam._

"What do you propose we should have done with them? Wheeled units down here? Defended them with our last breaths?"

Mr. Watson bit out. "We should have done something."

"Do you not understand your own biology? This is common in life forms throughout the galaxy."

Outside the Bee Sting several Borg were engaged in a fire fight. The Bee Sting rocked slightly, but the force field held and his device continued to emit its signal.

"Not humans. Not us."

"Really," Sherlock poured vitriol like salt peter. "Why do you think alphas rut repeatedly with an omega, who they've impregnated after knotting? It's to prevent another alpha from eliminating the fertilized eggs by rutting with that omega. From replacing them reproductively. Why do you think alphas have the urge to rut repeatedly with an omega throughout the pregnancy?"

A power station exploded down the fall. Flames licked around the Bee Sting.

"It's to create a bond to ensure the alpha helps care for the child while it's helpless."

"No! No! No! That is why the omega ruts with the alpha. An alpha is ensuring that the omega will not miscarry if they come into contact with another alpha, whose goal would be to ensure that the omega is available to bear their own offspring."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. I can't believe… were you trying to impregnate me when I was in heat?"

"Of course not." His thoughts or lack of them at the time didn't bear revealing. Humiliating to remember how biology had overcome him. "As you repeatedly mentioned at the time, you were very glad to be on birth control to prevent that result." He would leave it for Mr. Watson to state the obvious. That they had achieved reproductive success that had since become unfruitful.

Good, given Mr. Watson's ambitions for himself. Still, the thought lent a certain sharpness to his next words. "But instinct drove you to drivel on and on about how I was going to fill you to our mutual reproductive success."

"I can't… No. That was just heat. Civilized species aren't like that."

A further set of explosions one level down had the Bee Sting rocking back and forth. Jostling Mr. Watson against Sherlock. Mr. Watson scrambled back. He was holding his entire body as much away from Sherlock as he could.

Sherlock was certain if he could say the right words this conversation could get back on its previous track. "You mean like the miscegenation laws that have occurred throughout Human history. Attempted sterilization of whole populations through disease and surgery. The three child requirement for every Vulcan of reproductive age each pon farr after the destruction of Vulcan, while they simultaneously barred Romulan emigration. After World War III, the restrictions on Augment reproduction while so called Normal humans were disallowed reproductive rights. You mean civilized like that."

"You should stop talking." Mr. Watson turned away. His voice was very hard and very firm.

Sherlock didn't have time for this conversation in any case. _There was ash in his eyes, which made focusing difficult through the saline produced by his tear ducts._ Sherlock watched the monitor for an indication that the reactor was reaching critical now that all its units were engaged in all out war. Finally, he saw a radiation spike and engaged the Bee Stings engines.

They were away just in time as the Borg ship exploded.

Violently.

Mr. Watson maintained a chilly silence the entire way back to Hanger 221b.

_Sherlock walked from room to room looking for a solution. He was right. He knew he was right, but he couldn't find a way to convey that rightness to Mr. Watson._

He didn't find it by the time they landed.

There was no time afterwards as they were pulled away to make their various boring reports. Sherlock was forced to explain his design over and over to imbecilic scientists. There was a meaningless commendation, which was then made confidential, and he was promoted to full Commander. Meaningless.

Mr. Watson did not visit his office. Sherlock supposed the question of ship duty was no longer an issue.

Starfleet needed to replace the ship's complements for forty ships of the line.

He did a calculation on the power requirements necessary to rapidly replace that many ships. That was the true indicator of the Federation's wealth. None of its citizens were called on to reduce power consumption. Massive replicators produced parts without a change in any aspect of civilian life.

Life continued. Things were easy to replace.

Biological wealth, eleven thousand crew – this made Sherlock think again of his last conversation with Mr. Watson – were harder to come by.

Sherlock's class load was quadrupled, as the Academy sped up the class schedule to graduate the third and fourth year students within the next six months. Any teaching staff with any command experience would be assigned to a ship and would be replaced with a civilian teacher as ships became available.

Scant though his experience was, Sherlock was promoted from Lieutenant Commander to full Commander, and being given command of a ship. Sherlock would soon have the opportunity he'd always wanted. His own command to explore the mysteries of space.

Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Mummy hadn't kidnapped him. He spun out three hundred and forty-seven scenarios. Most of them horrible.

_Termination of the process. Simple. Straight forward. Still, the thought left him feeling somewhat lost. Not that his parent's genetics needed to be further passed on, quite the contrary, nor was he interested in the act of doing so, but he had not completely eradicated instinct. He would._

_Non termination left the most scenarios. It made him itch to examine Mr. Watson's DNA to verify a theory as to how this had been possible, but no matter. Reproduction was dangerous to the offspring and the parent to carry out placental transfers from in vivo to in vitro. Still he imagined it. The failures. Success would lead him trapped by the tether of one or more offspring in the uterine replicators banks among his own people. Mr. Watson trapped in a fake world with him. If in the unlikely scenario that those offspring survived given the low success rates._

_Then there was in vivo. Mr. Watson had mentioned frequent illnesses as a child, so it was unlikely that his immune system would attack the zygotes, but it was still a possibility. He would need to go on immune depressors and isolate himself just in case. A high probability of gestational diabetes and high risk of preclampsia, which Augments were particularly prone to as a result of their genetic modifications. Mr. Watson would have needed to quit the academy. He would have needed to move into Sherlock's quarters. Into Sherlock's bed. He would need Sherlock to frequently scent and feed, care for him in every way as he progressed through pregnancy._

_Even then, he might lose the children. Only for post-partum heat to pull them into repeating the same cycle almost immediately. It was dangerous for Augments to take suppressors during pregnancy. Unless they remained separate during child birth. The improbability of that scenario had him discarding it outright._

_So Sherlock examined long term scenarios involved the complete degradation of Sherlock's dreams and objectives. Most involving Mr. Watson engaged in vigorous and constant coitus with Sherlock in a nest of a bed while growing repeatedly round with their offspring that were inevitably lost. The loss of Mr. Watson's career ambitions. His desire for medical success and adventure sublimated into nothing but caring for their offspring should they survive. In some scenarios translated into a never ending series litters that Sherlock knotted and bred into him with all the resulting health issues that would come of that._

Then there was what had occurred.

He only saw Mr. Watson in glimpses while running between classes.

Thin.

Tired.

Away from Sherlock, who felt lost without his T.A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Battle_of_Wolf_359  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/20941623  
> https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/immunology-and-microbiology/immune-tolerance-in-pregnancy  
> https://nyulangone.org/conditions/autoimmune-diseases-in-pregnancy/types  
> https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/gestational-diabetes/symptoms-causes/syc-20355339  
> https://www.webmd.com/baby/guide/preeclampsia-eclampsia

**Author's Note:**

> Have no fears for sad!Sherlock. There are many more stories to go.
> 
> As to what's up next, keep in mind, John and Sherlock are both active duty military personnel. John as a cadet about to graduate and Sherlock as a Commander (he just got promoted). Starfleet has just lost 39 ships with 11,000 crew serving on them at the battle of Wolf 359. 
> 
> Ships that should be patrolling neutral zones & shipping lanes, rescuing colonies/lost ships, the ever popular survey missions, and the actual exploring space within the 3-Dimensional area claimed by the Federation. Fleet capacity would be stretched very thin until Starfleet can get the equivalent of those 39 ships back out there. 
> 
> Sooo... this academic fiction is about to got to Warp 10 and head out into space, as Sherlock gets transferred to... go read the next fic.
> 
> This also concludes what "season one" of the story. While that kind of went by the wayside as certain "seasons" have more "episodes" than others, but the end of each season involves getting the characters to a certain point in the story.


End file.
